Songs like Fire Burn and Close The Door show the band still have a passionately political edge, and Bounce is a worthy addition to their canon.

Winter has a distorted, almost industrial grind, fitting incongruously with an uplifting chorus, but saving the best for last, closer After Something is a rather beautiful ballad.

Torres apparently took five years out of recording between his debut and this album, and it feels like he’s matured, honed himself in that time, producing a most considered beauty.

Shimmering industrial dance pulses seem so back in vogue that it’s almost as if no-one ever laughed at Nitzer Ebb. Hence, Wrangler’s second studio album, generally much less brutal than Nitz, but featuring a few lyrics undercooked enough to have featured in the latter’s back-catalogue, may be ploofing about at just the right time.

A really gorgeous record, and well worth seeking out.

Braver Than We Are knows its audience and plays to it perfectly.

The misty, murky sound he strives for, regardless of its influences or genre, works best when a voice or idea makes itself known clearly, and though those moments are few, their inclusion just about justifies the whole project.

The sassy European and fraught, fatalistic Bilbao also have their moments, though there’s too great a reliance on mid-tempo numbers and the proto-punk aggression hinted at sadly fails to materialise.

Smash The System is another complex smorgasbord that fans of Haines’ music and sense of humour will lap up. And that non-concept thing might just be another arch attack.

It’s the beautifully resigned sound of a failed search for redemption.

It’s fine for the moment and could even earn Krell the spotlight he craves, but when that fad ends, only the smart will survive and graduate to longer term success. Expect to see his mortarboard first and highest up in the air.

The feeling you’re left with after listening is one of calm. So, mission accomplished on all counts.

On the whole Ape is a chilled listen. It’s glorious that Banhart has found this high watermark plateau so far into his career, especially when you remember he was once in danger of becoming the one-time token hippy at the party.

The pairing works, and although there are two, even three tracks that verge on the forgettable, the likes of the utterly sublime The Morning Stars, and the way Sick As A Dog builds to its rousing climax of “I use the same voice I always have,” more than compensate.

On the whole, Sorceress is a decent album, but Opeth are capable of more.

Slower, heavier and maybe a little bit more messed up than before, while not stabbing at the same loud/quiet buttons, AYHL is a most welcome, if mildly unhinged continuation.

Dusk goes nowhere, basically. It ambles, seems happy to hide behind the sofa, but is charming, feels totally complete and when it ends you feel the urge to hit repeat. Again.

The tracks drift by like soporific imitations of past glories--for the most part there’s nothing especially wrong with the songs, they just sound as if they could have been composed using a Van Morrison Song Generator.

Evocative and enriching, Tiersen’s Eusa is a faultless work.

Dieter Meier’s vocals are a little grizzled but retain their dark chocolate vibes. He’s the bohemian who’s seen it all but can’t stop partying, reflecting this in the lyrics. He does however need a few disco naps, these being filled adequately by party guests.

Loose but not chaotic, Set Fire To The Stars has a poetic grace more than worthy of its subject.

Bursting with in-the-moment vitality, it applies a neon topcoat to Gong’s long-established ley lines.

A casting off of the shackles of self-consciousness has borne exquisite fruit here, with any accusations of novelty or fetishism negated by the brilliance of musicianship, attention to detail and sheer fun of the thing.

It’s a given that Keith is never short of rhymes, but Feature Magnetic, perhaps in a nod to its title, sees him pass the mic to a lengthy roll call of guests--almost as if he’s the absent heart of his own record. Regardless, it’s undeniably his show.

An official release of lost song Sunshine Woman will please completists, but it’s difficult to escape the niggling doubt that this is little more than a cash-in opportunity, with lost versions tacked on the end of what was a perfectly good record first time around.

Melodically reminiscent of Portishead’s Mysterons in its early stages, The Gathering sees a rueful violin-led melody spill over into a distorted and sorrowful mass many times its original size. Some Were Saved, Some Drowned has melancholy violins hang in the air as a doom laden riff cuts despondent, bluesy grooves deep into the piece’s core.

As Keaton forcefully exclaims in The Pugilist, “I’m an artist, and I still have songs in me yet”, a sentiment he has demonstrated perfectly with Kindly Now.

As flawed as this album is, pop will be a finer place with AlunaGeorge’s presence.